


A Nightly Occurrence

by watsonswarrior



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, wholock - Fandom
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Kid!Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-10
Updated: 2012-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-30 22:23:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/336810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watsonswarrior/pseuds/watsonswarrior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young Sherlock is awakened by a strange noise outside his window. Little does he know, a strange blue box containing a mad man and a little companion is about to change his life</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Nightly Occurrence

The grating noise from outside Sherlock’s window woke him from his light slumber. His mother, after seeing him awake, fiddling with various items in the kitchen, at 12:30 in the morning, ordered him to bed. He sulked and stood his ground, folding his arms across his chest, ever the petulant child. Before he could get a word out however, his mother put her hands on her slender hips, silencing him with that cold gaze that had the ability to chill him to the bone. He could never argue when she used that icy glare, her steely blue eyes tuning to absolute frost. The little boy sighed in defeat, trudging out of the immaculate kitchen, up the swirling staircase, and into his room. He shrugged off his deep blue robe, revealing his matching striped pajamas. Before he plopped onto his bed, Sherlock looked out his window, at the stars and the glowing crescent moon.

He would always take a few minutes every night to look out at the night sky and get lost in his thoughts. The ones he tried to suppress during the day time. He thought about how he was constantly picked on by his fellow classmates, poking fun at his social ineptitude. He always told himself that it was because they were jealous, envious at the fact he was smarter than everyone in his third year class, as well as everyone else at his school, including most of the teachers. That didn’t make it hurt any less. He knew he would never fit in, and he had come to terms with it. 

But sometimes all he wanted was a friend; someone to talk to about all of his theories and experiments and the thoughts swirling around his cramped mind. Sherlock did not have the heart to tell his mother, let alone Mycroft. Especially Mycroft, he thought bitterly. His brother would just ruin everything more than they already were. The kids would just tease and sneer about how he had to go to his big brother for protection.

He let himself grieve over his father’s death, having been gunned down in the relentless war. The house felt too empty without his hearty laugh. He could almost hear those guffaws coming from his study, cozy in his deep burgundy leather armchair, reading the works of Chaucer or Shakespeare, nibbling on his cigar. Hemay have been able to help Sherlock with his troubles, sitting him down on his lap, ruffling his raven black curls that matched his own. 

If anyone else did so, Sherlock would be positively livid, kicking and punching until they let go, but not his father. He shared a closeness with him that could not be rivaled by anyone else, not even his mother. He indulged Sherlock in his wild experiments, giving his own two cents and input. Instead of normal bedtime stories, he read from science books filled with theories and hypothesis. Some nights they would look at the stars, just as Sherlock was doing right at that moment. 

Sherlock had to stop dwelling on the past, or else his emotions would get the best of him. But that was the beauty of night, the veil of darkness that surrounded him. No one would be able to see the tears streak down his pale cheeks, eyes becoming bloodshot from the salty tears. He allowed himself this moment, a short period of time where he backed up from his window sill and fell apart on his bed. He muffled his sobs with his goose down pillow, curling into a tight ball, hugging his knees to his shaking chest. He fisted his small hands in those curls that so resembled his father’s. He wanted to go back and tell his father how much he truly loved him, since it seemed Sherlock was always preoccupied in his own mind to even think about trivial things such as showing the affection his father deserved. Had he even told his father he loved him before he was deployed? No, he hadn’t. Of course he would remember. He could remember everything, and for the first time, hated himself for it.

***

He had been examining the reaction times of a lizard he found in the garden when he saw his father in that damn uniform. Of course, he hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Sherlock believed it would only be a month, two at the most, until his father returned, so he saw no need in saying those three precious words. His father put down his suitcases and waited at the door to see his family off. His mother, usually as stoic as himself, was a weeping mess, crying into her handkerchief, blubbering incoherent things. 

Mycroft was trying to hold it together, now that he was going to be the head of the household. He cleared his throat, straightening his already smooth dress shirt. But as soon as their father swopped in for a bear hug, Mycroft lost it. He clutched at his neck, willing him not to go. Soon, he managed to disentangle from his strong grip, raking an unsteady hand through those messy obsidian waves. That’s when he turned to Sherlock, eyes brimming with tears. Sherlock’s mind was elsewhere though. His mind was clouded with the most recent experiment, going through everything over and over again. He barely saw his father wipe away his tears and swallow the sob in his throat. He strode over to him and ruffled his hair like he always did. He then knelt down so he was eye level with his youngest.

“You really do need a haircut. Make sure mummy takes you to the barber, yeah?”

“Mmm,” Sherlock replied.

“And can you do me a favor? For your old man?”

“What?” He said in a distracted tone.

“Don’t you ever give up on those experiments you’re always fussing with. No matter what anyone tells you. You’re a proper genius, son, and one day you’ll be known for those daft deductions. It may not feel like it now, but just you wait, boy-o. Can you promise me that Sherlock?”

“Yes father.” He said only to placate him, for his mind was wandering back upstairs to his room where his lizard was waiting.

“Good. That’s quite…yes, good. Well then, I better be off. Don’t want to be late,” he wavered, smiling in hope to hide his despair. The tall, slender man got up from the ground and gave one more half hearted shake to Sherlock’s curls. He coughed twice and faced Mycroft.

“Take care of these two, will you?”

“Of course father,” he driveled. He then walked over to his wife who was still softly crying into the piece of cloth. He came over and grasped her wrists gently, lowering them slowly so that he could look at her.

“My dear, beautiful Violet, I can’t put into words how much this pains me. Leaving you, my family, proves to be the hardest experience I have ever had to go through. Wherever they ship me, I will always be thinking of you and the boys. Whenever I think there’s nothing left to live for, I’ll see your lovely face in my mind’s eye and know that I do.” He holds her cheek in his willowy hand, stroking her pale skin lightly with his thumb. She nuzzles into the warmth and sniffles. Tilting her head up, he presses a tender kiss on her lips.

“Oh Sigur, must you leave?” She pleaded.

“Yes, love. It’s time I protect this country so our boys can have the future they deserve.” He enveloped her in a deep hug, cupping the back of her head, stroking her dark brown hair. Sigur gave his wife one last kiss on her temple and withdrew. He regarded each one of them with an unyielding sense of pride.

“Every one of you will be forever in my heart, never forget that.” There was a sharp honking noise outside. “Well, seems like that’s my cue. This is not goodbye since I will be seeing all of you again, possibly with gifts for the little ones,” he said with an almost smile. He picked up his belongings and walked out into the grey mist, never to step through that doorway again.

***

Sherlock was still curled up in a ball, tears burning his eyes, unsure of how much time has passed. How could he have been such an idiot? He always berated others for their stupid actions, and he was no different from the rest of those morons. How could he not cherish every moment he had with his father? Every time he thought of him he felt a dull ache in the pit of his stomach and a sharp burn in his heart. He needed to pull himself together, but he couldn’t find the strength to. He was quickly spiraling into a deep pit of despair and he didn’t fight it. On the contrary, he welcomed it with open arms. 

After he did, it was easy to feel numb. Rather not feel a single thing than have to face a barrage of emotion all at once. He wiped his face with his pajama top and settled under the warm covers of his bed. He recited the periodic table in his head until he drifted off to sleep. And that’s when he heard that terrible sound. It sounded like cats scratching a chalk board. So, of course he had to investigate what the racket was.

He pulled on his robe, put his feet into a worn pair of slippers, and crept down the stairs, careful not to make any creaking noises. Once he was on the landing, he looked from side to side, hoping his mother had gone back to sleep. Sherlock tip toed over toward the kitchen to use the side door. He stopped in his tracks, figuring he should go get a torch at least. He rummages in the variety drawer and finds one, heavy and metallic. Sherlock crossed the tiled floor quickly and turned the knob slowly, sliding the door open cautiously. He was finally outside, greeted with the soft shine from the stars. 

A chilling breeze sent shivers down his spine. He flicked on the torch in his hand, waving the beam of light in the darkness. What he found on top of his mother’s hydrangeas made his mouth drop, torch slipping from his hands. It was a…blue police box. He had only seen them in old pictures, but there was one right before his very eyes, on top of his mother’s garden. He stood there, gaping for a long time. How could this even be possible? Everything had been perfectly fine and in order before he had gone to bed and now this. He knew the smart thing to do would be the backup into his house and tell his mother, but the curiosity was constricting his every thought, so he took a step closer.

Another breeze rolled through the night. Sherlock tightened his robe, shaking not only from the cold, but from sheer anticipation. His feet crunched on the fallen leaves as he moved closer and closer. Now he was in touching distance of this impossible box. Just as he was about to put his hand on the handle, the door swung open. Sherlock jumped back, startled. Before him stood an odd looking man with floppy hair, a tweed jacket, black slacks and shoes, red braces, and a garish bow tie. He was panting furiously, bent down with his hands on his knees.

“Well, that was quite the chase, was it not John-“ the strange man stopped short, finally looking up. “Wait, but…you’re not John,” he said in a confused tone, his almost eyebrows furrowing.

“No. I’m Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes,” he replied in a cold fashion, composing himself in the blink of an eye. He stood up straighter, holding his head in a haughty tilt.

“Have you happened to see John? Did he tumble out before I did? Oh no, did I leave him on Ishtheus? I suppose that wouldn’t be the worst fate, since it’s quite nice there, they have vast assortment of bow ties and hats and jam which Johnny boy seems to absolutely love. But I would be quite torn up without him. He’s quite a laugh, you see, and has an eye for jumpers.”

“Who is this John you keep prattling on about? And what on earth is Ishtheus? Who…who are you anyway?”

“John is my companion, of course! I need to have someone to travel with as an old…friend once told me,” the man looked slightly shaken, gulping deeply. He quickly came out of it and put on a bright, beaming smile. “As for myself? Well, you can call me the Doctor.”

“Doctor who might I ask?” Sherlock asked impatiently. The Doctor chuckled a bit, like he was in on something he wasn’t, which made Sherlock frustrated.

“Just ‘the Doctor.’”

“That’s just rubbish now, isn’t it? Let me see some proper identification,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Alright, alright, let me just…” the Doctor trailed off, rummaging around in his pockets. “Ah HA! Found it! Now do you see? Completely one hundred percent official,” he said smugly.

“What are you talking about? All I can see is a blank piece of paper,” Sherlock replied, matching his smug tone with crossed arms. The Doctor put the black leather case that held the blank paper in his coat pocket very slowly, never taking his eyes off the boy.

“Oh, how cool is this? A proper genius, and a kid one, too! I haven’t met someone who could get past the psychic paper in a long time. Now, where is John? JOHN? JOHNNY BOY!” Sherlock covered his ears and then shoved this very odd man.

“Will you keep it down? You’ll wake mother, and trust me, you definitely wouldn’t want that.”

“Oh alright, I’ll try to keep it down. Now Sherly, can I call you that?

“No.”

“How about…Broody McBroody Face?

“No.”

“But I can’t really picture you as a ‘Sherlock’.”

“I’m sure you can manage,” Sherlock hissed, trying to impersonate his mother’s hardened glare the best he could. It seemed to have worked, since the Doctor didn’t say another word to where his name was concerned. Just as the Doctor was checking behind a rose bush, a boy walked out of the blue box. He looked older than Sherlock, maybe early to mid teens. He was relatively short, but stocky, with a mess of flaxen blonde hair on top of his head. He looked so unassuming, almost like a kitten. There seemed to be nothing intimidating about him, but there was something in those deep blue eyes that said differently. Sherlock felt that if he were ever put into a corner, if there was any impending danger, he would not hesitate to react.

“What has that nutter got himself into now?” The boy muttered under his breath.  
Sherlock just stood there, trying to figure this boy and crazy man out. There were too many questions to be answered. He looked over toward Sherlock, and shot him a mild, warm smile that eased his mind. He walked over and knelt down so they were now eye level, the same way his father…no, he wouldn’t allow himself to think about that. Not now.

“Hullo there. My name’s John Watson, what’s yours?”

“Sherlock Holmes.”

“That’s quite the name, isn’t it? Very unique; I like it. Mine is boring. Generic. I bet you there are about a hundred John Watsons in the London area alone. Now, come on. Let’s go see what the mad man is up to this time.” John got up and started to make his way over to the rose bush he was nearly trampling, and Sherlock trailed behind.

“Doctor, what are you doing to those bushes? C’mon, get yourself out of there, it’s not exactly your property after all,” John chastised.

“John! I thought I left you on Ishtheus,” the Doctor said, relief coloring his voice.

“Wouldn’t be the first time you left me on an alien planet,” John said, half under his breath.

“Oi, I always came back for you, didn’t I? I’d never think to just drop you off and not come back. You do have to admit it’s a lovely planet and-“

“Wait just a blasted minute. What do you mean ‘alien planets?’ That’s just…that’s just preposterous is what it is. I must be dreaming. That’s the only logical explanation to this situation,” Sherlock said, trying to reason with himself.

“Yes, Sherlock, I did in fact say alien planets. And there are hundreds of thousands of millions out there in this big wide universe we reside in. Sherlock, we’re not alone. We never have been. What if I told you there was a whole civilization living beneath your feet, under the Earth’s crust? Living there for billions of years, and you haven’t even known. There are so many mysteries, so many uncharted lands to explore, waiting to be discovered. I could give you a rundown of the physics and the technical terms, but that would take much too much time. All I can tell you, right at this moment, is that it’s real. It’s all real. Tell him, John,” the Doctor looked over to his traveling companion, waiting for his confirmation.

“He’s right, you know. Completely mental, but what he’s telling you is true. I’ve been to quite a few planets, almost died several times, and there’s nothing more exhilarating then traveling with this madman, however, it has the tendency to get a bit…dull in there,” John motioned over to the police box.

“Hey, don’t bash the TARDIS! She is very lovely and accommodating,” the Doctor huffed.

“Calm down, I didn’t mean her; I meant the company is a bit…dry.”

“Wait, TARDIS? Are you making up words?” Sherlock asked.

“It stands for Time and Relative Dimensions in Space. This police box doesn’t just go around in space, it travels through time,” John said.

“Impossible!”

“Oh, but it isn’t Sherlock. In fact, why don’t you have a look?” The Doctor asked, still standing in the bushes.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Sherlock said, a smile lighting up his sullen face. John let out a laugh.

“Aren’t you an eager one? Let’s go, the first time could result in quite a shock.” John held out an inviting hand. Sherlock looked at it quizzically, wondering why he put his hand out in his direction. Then he realized that John wanted him to take hold of it. This is a…friendly gesture, he thought. No one had ever offered to hold his hand before, not even his mother. His family was not fond of physical affection, so things like hugs were limited. This did not always apply to his father, but for the most part, they hardly showed this side of fondness. Before he could think any further, he slipped his hand into the older boy’s, feeling a reassuring squeeze from John.

“Does this make us friends now?” Sherlock asked, genuinely wondering if this was the case. He expected John to laugh, like all the other kids did when he asked a question like this, but he just smiled down at Sherlock, sapphire eyes filled with comfort.

“I guess it does, mate.” Sherlock felt like he was soaring in the air. He had never been someone’s mate before.

“Doctor, you coming?”

“Yeeees! I’m on my way right-oh wait. Hold on just a tick. Sherlock, you wouldn’t mind if I…?” The doctor asked, beckoning to the rose bush.

“Go ahead, but if my mother asks, I had no part in it.” The two boys heard the rustling of leaves and the Doctor grunting until he pulled away a budding yellow rose.

“Always like myself a good rose,” he said softly, placing it inside is jacket pocket. “Let’s head off then!” the Doctor was striding out of the garden toward the TARDIS. All three of them made their way over to the police box, but Sherlock halted before the doorway, drawing John backward.

“What’s wrong, Sherlock?”

“Won’t it be crammed in there? I mean, it is quite a small box. I doubt all of us will be able to fit,” Sherlock said skeptically. John and the Doctor shared a knowing look, which further annoyed him. The Doctor looked down at him, mouth quirked in a slight smile, and snapped his fingers.

“Go ahead; take a look for yourself.” Sherlock blinked rapidly, biting his bottom lip, no longer entirely sure what he would find behind this blue wooden door. John smiled down at him encouragingly, letting go of his hand, tugging him forward. 

“I’m right behind you,” John said when Sherlock looked behind nervously. He only met John several minutes ago, yet he was the only person he held in this regard. The only person he felt he could thoroughly trust. So he took a deep breath and entered the blue police box, only to have it taken away from him when he saw the interior. It was huge. Much bigger than he suspected. There was some sort of machine in the middle of it and everything had a metallic glow to it. There was a low whirring noise that he found almost soothing. To the left hand side was an archway that seemed to lead to more rooms, but he still couldn’t wrap his head around how the inside correlated to the outside. Smiling widely, he stalked back outside, taking a great big look at the exterior. He then went back inside and was greeted with the smiling faces of the Doctor and John.

“So, what do you think?” the Doctor asked, rocking back and forth on his feet.

“It’s…it’s…”

“Fantastic?” John supplied with another warm smile. Sherlock looked from John, to the Doctor, back to John.

“Precisely,” Sherlock choked out.

“So how ‘bout it? Wanna join our motley crew?” The Doctor asked, positively beaming.

“What about my mother? And my schooling? I can’t just drop everything and run away at the drop of a hat.”

“Time machine, remember?”

“Well…”

“Sherlock, c’mon. To be honest, no matter how brilliant this guy is, he’s not the best company. It would be nice to have a mate on board.”

“But…I’m not the best company either,” Sherlock said dejectedly, bowing his head down, scuffing his slippers on the glass floor.

“Bollocks!” John shouted. Sherlock was startled at the foul language. “Pardon my French, but you can’t possibly believe that, can you? You seem like a great chap, you really do. Even though I’ve known you for not very long, I’m a fairly good judge of character and I can tell the good ones from the not so good ones. And you? Well, you seem to be a good one.”

“You really think so?” Sherlock asked, pale blue eyes lighting up.

“You bet I do,” John replied in that calm manner of his.  
Sherlock tried to hide the smile creeping on his face, but he just couldn’t help it. There were people who actually wanted to include him. Sure it wasn’t the most conventional of groups, but when was anything that is slightly interesting ever ordinary?

“And what about clothes? If I’m going to be traveling with you two, I’m going to need a decent wardrobe.”

“Already have that taken care of,” the Doctor said, clapping his hands together.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, I told you the TARDIS was very accommodating, so she’s gone through the trouble of whipping you up a bedroom, fully equipped with clothing, books, and whatever else you need. Oh and Sherlock?”

“Yes?”

“Welcome aboard,” The Doctor said with a wide grin on his boyish face. Sherlock returned it with a big smile.

“Johnny boy, why don’t you give our new shipmate a tour of the TARDIS?”

“Of course, Doctor. Let’s go, Sherlock, I’ll show you the library first, since you seem to be quite the intellectual.”

“There’s a whole library?” Sherlock asked in awe. John responded with a goodhearted chuckle. There was a silence that passed between the two boys, and then Sherlock broke it.

“My father died in the war.” It took him a second to realize that he probably shouldn’t have said this. What if it scared him off? He needed to be more careful with the things he said or he would lose a friendship that he would never have the chance of knowing. John stopped in his tracks and looked down at Sherlock with such sorrow in those blue eyes.

“Sherlock, I am so sorry to hear about that. I am truly, sincerely sorry for your loss. I lost my father in the war as well, and I am familiar with the pain you must feel. You know, I was thinking about training to become an army doctor so I could save as many soldiers as humanly possible. Nobody should go through losing a father, brother, uncle, or husband due to the ravages of war. I know there would be a possibility of dying in action, but that’s the risk I’m willing to take if I can save people in the process.”

“John, I don’t know what to say. I’m…I too am greatly sorry for your loss. And your plan to become an army doctor sounds very…noble and selfless.”

“Thanks Sherlock,” John said, flashing him a half smile and rumpled his unruly curls. “Now, let’s show you that library.” And as they walked deeper into the TARDIS, Sherlock felt, for the first time in his young life, like he belonged.


End file.
